


Thirty-Six Miles

by misswatsonholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bisexual John, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Teenlock, Unilock, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misswatsonholmes/pseuds/misswatsonholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is this car yours?” John asked the moment he stopped in front of the black posh Audi. It suited perfectly for Sherlock and yet was not the car John thought to be perfect for his boyfriend.</p><p>“Technically, yes.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose and shrugged.</p><p>“Are you going to kidnap me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty-Six Miles

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the part II of my New Year's fic [Four Miles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3074876) but can totally be read as a one-off!

They had known each other for two months and in the surprisingly short time of their acquaintance Sherlock had managed to waltz his way into John’s life like no one had ever done before, and the same could apply to the other half of that equation. Sherlock wasn’t a very emotional person, but John had something in him that Sherlock couldn’t get enough of.

John was the kindest, most impressive person Sherlock had met in the twenty years of his life. It was a mixture of the little and big things John always did that made Sherlock not scared to think that he might be in love with the man, like being in love with John slowly took over Sherlock’s body and was already part of him.

He just wasn’t open to saying things like that out loud. Yet. Not while a small part of his mind couldn’t accept (or understand) that someone like John Watson would not find someone better to spend most of his days.

They had a ritual of meeting at a coffee shop right after John’s classes and before his four-hour shift at the clinic. They had done that since the first day of John’s internship and hadn’t stopped since.

At the café they would sit and talk for hours, letting their drinks get cold and the people walk by, as well as sometimes they would sit in a corner and kiss until their lips were pleasantly tingling and Sherlock’s cheeks were a nice tone of pink. John would laugh, run his fingertips against Sherlock’s face, and tell him how much he liked what they were doing, how fortunate he was to have met Sherlock.

That particular day, John seemed unusually restless. He took thirty seconds longer than usual to order their beverages, didn’t listen when his name was called twice by the barista (only turning after Sherlock nudged his arm). He also drank more of his black tea than usually in a very short amount of time and looked around the room as if waiting for something to explode and take them out of that place. Sherlock knew nothing major happened at the clinic because the only moment John visibly reacted was when he started talking about his internship, which only led him to one conclusion: John wasn’t happy with how things were going on between them.

The weird pattern slowly grew inside Sherlock’s guts and he wanted to figure out specifically what was wrong. Taking the silence of his boyfriend as cue, he allowed himself inside his mind and thought of the past days, repeated his own sentences and wondered if he had said or done something so terribly wrong that would make John stop seeing him.

He found nothing, and yet, that terrible feeling was still there.

He wouldn’t accept it. He couldn’t think of a new reality in which John wasn’t in his life.

“Tell me what’s happening before I lose my mind.” Sherlock blurted out before he could control himself. His fingertips pressed tightly against the plastic cup but he didn’t dare to look away.

John seemed surprised at first, brows arching for a brief moment before his shoulders slumped and he shook his head dismissively.

“I was just thinking that it’s February 12th.” John said.

Sherlock blinked quickly and, for a split of a second, his heart leaped so fast at the possibility of him having forgotten about John’s birthday (he wouldn’t, not after John kissing him for the first time on January 6th. His best birthday present so far), but John’s birthday was in August. At the lack of reply, John breathed heavily and decided to continue.

“What are we going to do on the 14th, Sherlock?”

“Do… Why?”

John smiled fondly at Sherlock as he held his cup of tea closer to his mouth.

“You really don’t know, do you?” He asked, to Sherlock’s sheer annoyance.

“Know what?”

“It’s Valentine’s day.”

“And?”

“And,” John pressed his lips against each other, a signal of self-consciousness that Sherlock knew all too well by know. It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault, really. He just didn’t see John’s point. “I was thinking that maybe we could do something to celebrate the day.”

“Must we?”

“It’s, well, tradition.”

“Oh.”

“I know you think it’s silly.” John sighed. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I promise.”

* * *

 Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about it. As he laid on his bed, the ideas floated in his mind, disturbing his sleep and making it impossible for him to concentrate on anything but John and the promise he made to think about Valentines Day.

He couldn’t take it for much longer.

He turned around on the bed and took hold of his phone by the bedside table, typing the numbers automatically. It rang twice before Sherlock knew a very sleepy John answered the call.

 “I don’t know how to do that.” He blurted out the moment John picked up, not waiting for the other to come to his senses. Only Sherlock would call him at that hour, anyway.

There was the rustling sound of John’s blankets and Sherlock could tell John was rubbing at his eyes, waking himself up at the alarming tone of his boyfriend’s voice. Sherlock waited.

“Do what?” John’s voice came eventually.

“This. What we’re planning.”

“Sherlock,” John sighed, always so calm and patient towards the man. John, always so understanding that Sherlock could hardly believe they had met out of sheer, well, luck.  “It’s three in the morning and you just woke me up.  I’m gonna need a bit more than that for us to talk.”

“Valentine’s day, John.” Sherlock urged. “I’ve been thinking, and It’s just another day of the year created by companies to earn more money from those who have someone and even those who don’t and buy presents and chocolates for themselves out of self-pity. I know you’ve always had your straight, mindless girlfriends that needed this sort of reassuring acts but I hardly think it’s necessary for us to do it. We should be doing things together because we want to, not because society obliges.”

There was a long pause on the phone and Sherlock could tell John was taking his time to assimilate the (not as harsh as planned) words. That, or John was sleeping, but his John would never do such thing.

“I just thought it would be a good idea to eat dinner somewhere nice, but if you don’t want to then I guess it’s alright.” John said. His tone didn’t please Sherlock at all.

“My point is that we are not just allowed to eat somewhere nice on Valentine’s day, John. We can go whenever we want.”

“I agree with you!” John said, and Sherlock knew the man was getting more and more frustrated. Which was not a good thing. “I’ve never spent Valentine’s day without doing anything, it feels a little odd not to even bring it up. But if you don’t want to do anything, I’m fine with just hanging out like we usually do.”

Sherlock felt something sting in his heart and shifted on the bed as his brain worked to find the proper words.

“Are you sure?” He asked. His voice came out softer than intended, and Sherlock blinked rapidly in confusion as to why his body would betray him in such moment. He stared at the blank wall as if John was there lying in the bed (just the thought of John in the same bed as him made Sherlock’s stomach flutter in a way he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with) and talking to him.

“I’m sure, Sherlock.” John paused. Sherlock could feel the tension in the air. “You know that I love you.”

Sherlock let out a heavy breath, interrupting John’s speech, and smiled to his pillow. He heard the faint sound of John’s laughter and knew the blond was doing the same.

“I’m serious.” John added, “I want us to do nice things. Being with you is nice enough for me, even when we don’t do anything fancy.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock nodded a little still as if John was there with him. He kept on smiling for a long while until John’s yawn was too loud for him to ignore. He chuckled.

“Go to sleep.” Sherlock said.

“No, I’m fine. We can talk for a bit longer.” John’s voice was slurred and he was such a bad liar Sherlock didn’t have the will to correct him. Instead, he chuckled, and decided to go for the easiest way to make John want to sleep. 

“Right, so later tonight I was doing some research on new reagents I can purchase for the university and I’m really torn between pellets of powder of Flubromaolam because while the pellets—“

“Shit – Alright, you’ve made your point! I’ll sleep now.” John said in between a fit of laughter and it was impossible for Sherlock not to follow. “Jesus, you’re insufferable.”

“Good night, John.” Sherlock said, pressing the red button before they could find a way of lingering the conversation for another half hour.

As Sherlock put his phone to the side and shut his eyes, he made a very important decision that had nothing to do with chemical reagents.

He would do anything in his power to give John the best Valentine’s Day one could possibly have.

* * *

 John was five minutes late and Sherlock was starting to lose his mind.

He sat down on the black sofa an hour before the time they settled John would come and hadn’t moved since. His mind however was working at full speed, thinking of many ways in which John could have had an accident and died on his way, gotten lost or even found someone that he’d rather spend the day than Sherlock. The last one was surprisingly what worried Sherlock the most. It was realistic, not so driven by the pessimism of death or the stupidity of John getting lost on his way to a building he’d been exactly twice.

Sherlock’s trail of thought was briskly interrupted by a knock on his door. He jumped from his seat to welcome John in, and had to stop for a brief second to take in the view.

John was smiling from ear to ear, and even though his ears and nose were pink from the cold outside Sherlock could tell he was the reason behind the flushness of the blond’s cheeks. His warm coat embraced John’s lean body comfortably and Sherlock wanted to hug him for an hour before they could move. He was also carrying a dark brown picnic basket, which was good enough for Sherlock.

John was the first one to break the silence.

“I brought dinner, if you don’t mind. We can have some wine by the fire, eat and talk.” He said, not noticing Sherlock was dressed to go out. Maybe John thought a social attire was standard even for eating at home. “It’s simple and perfect.”

The constant flush on John’s cheeks clearly indicated there was something more he hoped they could do by the end of the night, but if Sherlock wanted to carry on with his plan, he would have to push those thoughts aside – shortly.

“This is lovely, John,” Sherlock said energetically while taking hold of the basket and checking its contents for a brief moment. He put it on the floor only so he could clasp his hands together and walk to put on his coat. “I have better plans for us, that is. If you want to.”

As Sherlock turned around and buttoned his coat – already expecting the confusion on John’s expression – he was surprised to find that John was in fact right behind him.

“What-” Sherlock started, but John was already everywhere; his arms were both around Sherlock’s shoulders and their bodies pressed closely together from thighs to their chests. Sherlock felt his heart tighten and gave into what was going to happen. John’s kisses were always warm and delicious, and that one wouldn’t be different.

“You didn’t make dinner reservations, did you?” John asked while his lips still grazed against Sherlock’s red ones. Sherlock grimaced.

“Of course not. I can be much more inventive than that, thank you.”

John pulled away with a laugher and rubbed his hands together, getting excited and curious. Sherlock was now sure he wouldn’t be completely happy with a lie-in, even though he thought he would.

“What are the plans, then?” John asked, to which Sherlock shook his head briskly.

“I won’t tell you until we’re there. You can guess, but I won’t give it in unless you’re completely right.” He said, taking the basket from the floor and the gloves from the mantelpiece.

 He also took hold of the keys from the car he had unwillingly borrowed from his brother and walked out of his small flat, towards the hallway and after that the wintery cold evening.

John followed in suit, at first only slightly confused as to why they weren’t walking towards the tube station like they would normally do from Sherlock’s flat and then extremely lost at the beeping sound of a car being unlocked on their right.

“Is this car yours?” John asked the moment he stopped in front of the black posh audi. It suited perfectly for Sherlock and yet was not the car John thought to be perfect for his boyfriend.

“Technically, yes.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose and shrugged.

“Are you going to kidnap me?” John asked with a small (yet teasing enough for Sherlock to feel his chest tighten with fondness) chuckle.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered briskly, feeling anxious and doubting himself for the first time since he came up with the plan. He softened his tone the moment he saw John’s expression. “For a few hours. I promise it will be worthy.”

Sherlock opened the door to the backseat and placed the basket safely on the floor. He checked it’s balance before shutting the door and standing properly. By then, John was already sitting down on the passenger’s seat and switched the radio on the pop channel. The volume was low enough for a good conversation to arise if needed, but Sherlock had never felt the need to fill gaps of silence with John. John was good like that.

As they drove through the city Sherlock sometimes glanced at John, looking for signals that the other wasn’t having a good time. Quite on the contrary, he found out, it seemed physically impossible for John to stop smiling. John would shut his eyes and sing aloud to a good song on the radio, glance at the bright lights from outside the window or even squeeze Sherlock’s hand when the car wasn’t moving. Sherlock was almost distracted enough with John to concentrate on the journey instead of just aimlessly drive around – John seemed to be having fun, at least.

“Wait, are we going south?” John asked after a while. He frowned at Sherlock but smiled anyway, too excited and curious to pretend that he didn’t care.

 Sherlock shrugged and didn’t say anything. At the lack of reply, John rolled his eyes and shifted so he was leaning on the left side of the seat and could properly look at Sherlock.

“Isn’t it late to go to that cinema in Brixton?”

“It is.” Sherlock said. He smiled at John as they drove straight past the cinema.

“The ice rink then. It must be the ice rink!” John exclaimed a few minutes afterwards, only to exhale with disappointment when they drove past his favourite ice rink in town. Sherlock wasn’t giving any clues and John got restless, like a child that wanted to own every single toy at once.

Sherlock loved every second of it even though he had stopped listening to John blab ten minutes ago.

He knew it was wrong and that he could at least tell John they were leaving London, but every time John snatched his phone and looked for references on the map or looked out the window to search for any cool place they could park Sherlock’s smile got wider.

He couldn’t help it.

It was a thirty-six miles long drive and Sherlock wasn’t tired in the slightest, especially after John gave up trying to figure out where they were going and decided to take a small nap. Not that Sherlock didn’t enjoy when John was awake and eager, but he’d never had the opportunity to watch him sleep and even though he was the one driving and they were less than twenty minutes away from their destination, he was happy with the glances he could take.

With John’s strong features now softened and the silence of the road (after Sherlock finally shut the radio down) he could appreciate the curve of John’s nose, the softness of the bow above his thin lips and the small bags under his eyes from a mixture of restless nights of study and rugby practices that were always scheduled way too early in the morning.

John was beautiful, and Sherlock didn’t care about anything anymore. He loved him. John needed to know that.

As Sherlock watched John it became clear that allowing him to sleep wasn’t the best idea in the long run, seeing as John could get too drowsy after waking up and wouldn’t enjoy the moment like he should. The solution to that problem was obvious. Sherlock softly squeezed John’s thigh while he drove into the small town of Folkestone. John stirred and blinked slowly as he adjusted to the low lightening of the small port town after all the shops were already closed. He shifted on his seat, looking out the window, and frowned.

“I have no idea of where we are.” He said.

“Folkestone,” Sherlock answered quickly. There was no reason not to answer now that they were already there. “Kent.”

John paused and nodded with that same thin smile he always gave whenever he didn’t understand something. Sherlock fought his annoyance and shook his head so he could focus on the road. He waited for John to form his question.

“What are we doing in Folkestone, Kent?”

“We are going to a beach called Sunny Sands.” Sherlock informed him. “It’s close enough to London, deserted at this time of the day and yet illuminated enough for us to enjoy the view of the ocean for as long as you want.”

John blinked quickly, repeatedly.

“You brought me to the beach? At night?” He asked.

“Well, yes,” Sherlock said slowly, as if John hadn’t grasped what he’d explained. “I believe it’s more romantic.” He didn’t mention that it was what the websites informed him. John didn’t need that information right now.

John laughed.

“It’s… It’s perfect, Sherlock.” He said, looking at Sherlock with wide eyes and a huge smile.

Soon Sherlock parked by the empty car park and moved to open the door, only to be stopped by John’s hand on his shoulder. He turned around and arched his brows questioningly, but John was already leaping on the seat to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s neck, and his lips were on his cheeks and neck and just everywhere. Sherlock chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. He was pleased beyond himself that John liked it.

  “Come on, let’s go.” John said, and it was remarkable the power he had to talk with his lips still pressed into a kiss while Sherlock could barely grunt or make some sense of himself.

They parted slowly, fingers lingering on a shoulder or a thigh, and both smiled shyly while adjusting their hairs.

John was the first to leave the car. He shut the door without waiting for Sherlock, and buried both hands on the pockets of his coat. Sherlock took a couple of towels he had folded on the backseat and exited the car shortly afterwards. John had his back to him, and stared at the distant lights of the city illuminating the crystal sand and the dark ocean. Apart from the wind all they could hear the sound of the waves crushing against the sand. It was peaceful there, something Sherlock appreciated even with his love for the crowded city.

His hand touched the small of John’s back and he pressed his lips to John’s ear.

“Ready?” He asked. John took his hand and smiled.

“Yes.”

They removed their shoes and moved down to the beach, walking for a long time and enjoying the silence brought by the lack of people and being complete with each other’s company. John would sometimes point something out, like the shape of a distant tree, a star on the sky of how the waves hit the sand more violently as the tide got stronger. Sherlock would always smile, no matter what John said. He was genuinely fascinated by how a person so simple like John could be so interesting, funny and deep. Like no one else he’d ever met.

After reaching a point where the car was nothing but a small dot and they still had a good portion of sand to walk if they wanted to, Sherlock stretched the towels on the soft sand and sat down. He rolled the bars of his dark trousers even though the wind was cold enough to make him shiver every so on, deciding to do that just in case they wanted to walk closer to the sea. Moreover, John had always been a warm person. He would be close to Sherlock and it would be enough.

“This is the best idea you could have ever had.” John said as he sat next to Sherlock. The blond rubbed both hands together and leant his shoulder to brush against the other’s.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock wrinkled his nose even if mockingly, and glanced at John. “You seemed very excited about the Ice Rink. I should have gone for it.”

John gasped in a new way Sherlock had never heard before. It made his eyes widen and his lips draw a wide smile.

“Can you imagine how many couples are there right now?” John asked through some giggles. “Girls falling on the ice just to get their dates to catch them, oh, god, no! This, though, is perfect.” He waved his hands around the deserted beach and shook his head.

Sherlock watched John as John stared fixedly at the ocean. He didn’t know How long passed, but he also didn’t mind. The wind was brisk and strong enough to make the strands of John’s blond hair move and sometimes cover his eyebrows and lashes, and Sherlock would happily watch that for as long as allowed.

 The blond seemed so lost in his own thoughts it seemed rude for Sherlock to interrupt, although his mind brimmed with a curiosity he knew he couldn’t keep quiet for too long.

“Why do you feel so drawn to the sea?” He asked.

John smiled and slowly dragged his gaze away from the view, reversing the roles, as he was the one staring at Sherlock as the man looked away.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s ‘cos I didn’t get to go to the beach when I was younger it always astonishes me how _huge_ it is. And we don’t know much about the ocean either, about that deep part where it’s an infinite darkness and too deep for men to explore. Isn’t it amazing?”

Sherlock frowned, because it was exactly what he didn’t like about the sea. How threatening and unbeatable force of nature it was, able to destroy anything. The sea was now only a calm dark sheet with the bright reflection of the stars, but at any moment, it could change. It’s unpredictability bothered him to no end. The mixture of the salty and musky smell brought from the wind and the chill of the air that came with it was far from something Sherlock enjoyed.

It made shivers ran his spine as he glanced at John and pressed his lips firmly against his own.

“I don’t know. Perhaps.” He said.

John chuckled, his hand reaching forwards to pinch Sherlock’s cheek and then lingered the touch for a moment longer.

 “You don’t have to think about it. The sea just… Is. And I love it.”

At the simple mention of the word love, Sherlock swallowed. He put both hands on his knees and rubbed his thighs nervously, not daring to look at John in order to see if he was still being watched. He already knew he was.

“About that,” He uttered, “I’m, uh, might have an announcement to make. I hope you won’t ask too many questions because I wouldn’t know how to answer them all in a way you would understand.”

“Yeah?” John frowned, “What is it?”

“I- I love, love,” Sherlock stammered, and felt like his tongue was twice it’s regular size. It shouldn’t be so difficult, and yet the openness of the moment made him want to say something stupid and meaningless that didn’t equal to his actual feelings.

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as John breached into his personal space, hand firmly pressing on the back of Sherlock’s neck.

“I know,” John smiled, sucking Sherlock’s delicate bottom lip without minding about the little surprised noise that came from the other man. “I know.”

The kiss already began frantic, all teeth and tongue and muffled noises, their hands everywhere, exploring, groping, just touching wherever they could reach. They were free from the stares of the always-crowded coffee shop, with only the moon and stars as silent witness, and it felt so good Sherlock was sure he would pass out at any moment.

It was a good thing that he didn’t actually pass out, because he would have missed the exact moment John’s knee pressed against his legs and spread them. Sherlock slid one of his bare feet against John, hooking it around his waist in a way that was perfect for him to roll his hips and feel John right there all around him.

It had always been so hard for Sherlock to lose control, and now he was floating, way over any line he could have thought of crossing. John’s body was fully pressed against his own and it was safe, warm and delicious.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, grinding his body down against Sherlock’s and rolling his head at the pleasant sensation. Sherlock muffled out in agreement, but was lost once more when John started to nibble and suck at his pale and exposed neck.

“Oh,” Sherlock gasped, eyes rolling as he let his head move to the side, leaving more space for John to do some more of that incredible magic with his lips and tongue.

John chuckled instead, and moved a hand in between Sherlock’s body and the towel. His fingers were on Sherlock’s arse and as he squeezed it and grinded his body, Sherlock yelped and giggled.

“It tickles.” Sherlock said, feeling surprised that his body would react that way to something he was looking forward to since the day he set his eyes on John. He felt betrayed by it, and huffed into John’s mouth.

“It’s cos you’re not used to it yet,” John said with a chuckle. He didn’t seem to mind that, since Sherlock’s reflective movements were to buck his hip up against his body. He squeezed Sherlock’s arse once more, and instead of a giggle, received as reward a quiet and yet meaningful moan. “See?” 

Sherlock felt outraged. And god, that felt good.

“Keep touching me like that,” Sherlock breathed, moving the leg that was stretched out on the towel to John as well so they were both hooked around the small of his back. He pushed John down and kissed him until neither could stand it anymore.

They were breathing heavily one against the other’s mouth, chuckling and pressing soft and small kisses, unable to stop touching but too aware of their surroundings to progress from a thorough snog.

Sherlock had no idea of what time it was. He didn’t care.

John, however, shifted against him. He rolled his forehead against Sherlock’s, smiling close the man as the cold wind made it a little harder to breathe after the rush of the adrenaline died off.

 “We should go back to the car.” He said, wriggling away from Sherlock to kneel between his legs and stand properly.

Sherlock watched with lidded eyes as John ran his hands over his arms and jeans in order to wipe the dark sand from himself in a way that could only be intentional. He blinked slowly and swallowed hard, convinced that his body already knew something was going to happen between them if the night went on as planned. He didn’t feel anxious about that, strangely enough. It was a strange sort of anxiety that made the hair on the back of Sherlock’s hair to lift in the most pleasant way.

“Sherlock?” John waved his hand in front of Sherlock’s face and the man realised he had lost track of his own thoughts.

He smiled and stood. “I’m sorry. Thinking.”

John’s small nod of acknowledgement was all Sherlock needed not to pay attention to his boyfriend. He did take John’s hand and entwined their fingers as they walked back to the car park. Despite the cold, John was still a warm presence, and Sherlock would touch him for as long as necessary.

They opened the back doors of the car and climbed in with short relieved puffs of air. Sherlock sat with his back to the window and pressing against the door, one of his legs falling down as he shuffled to open the basket and take the takeaway John had bought. One of the reasons Sherlock had picked this particular car was that the backseats were large enough for them to sit comfortably and do whatever they wanted. Such as eating.

As they ate the ridiculously cold food, – massaman curry chicken and prawns that John insisted they still tasted perfect and Sherlock couldn’t agree more – Sherlock told him about the eventful day in which he got the labs three and four of his campus to be evacuated.

“I broke some sort of record due to how long it took me from the start of the experiment to put the entire labs under emergency mode,” he said, eyes brimming proudly even though he felt ashamed and angry at the time.

John laughed throughout the entire story, reacting the same way he would always whenever Sherlock said something remotely smart. Sherlock was a man with a rather inflated ego and had never seen the need for the praise of others that were unable to appreciate his work. With John, however, he felt giddy like a schoolgirl.

As John focused on trying to get a piece of potato from their shared box, Sherlock reached on the seat and grabbed the red wine bottle abandoned by the end of the basket. He stopped mid-movement at the look of surprise on John’s face.

“Are we still going back to London?” John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock furrowed his brows. “I was going to pour you some wine, not me.”

John gave him one of those soft smiles that indicated that Sherlock had missed something and shook his head. “I can wait. Let’s drink the wine at your place.”

Something on John’s voice made Sherlock look up from the bottle of wine. The blond stared at him under his lashes, his cheekbones turning to that tone of pink Sherlock loved so dearly as he bit down a silent request – or permission – to know that everything was alright and he wasn’t being too invasive.

It made Sherlock’s stomach curl happily.  “Sounds like the perfect idea.”

John’s face lit up and he smiled widely, feeling too good about the lack of rejection to bother with not being half as excited as he really was.

“Yeah, it does. Nothing like a good old wine to close the day.” He brimmed.

“You sound like an old woman.” Sherlock said, moving his gaze from John’s lips before he would jump in to kiss him and make a big of a mess in a car that wasn’t even his own. He laughed at the sharp and outraged sound John emanated.

“No, I don’t!”

* * *

 Sherlock was worried that after the car drive back to London they would have lost the adrenaline they found on the beach, that John would want to have a kip on the sofa and head home late in the morning. He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

The moment they were inside the flat and Sherlock fumbled on his shaking hands to lock the door John had already taken off his coat and threw it on the sofa. He turned and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, drawing him closer so only their hips would touch.

“Do you still want the wine?” Sherlock asked softly. The ferocity in John’s eyes would be an answer clear enough for him, but he still wanted to hear the other say the words.

“Later. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” John said. Sherlock thought of mentioning he shared those feelings but he couldn’t even complete the sentence in his mind because John’s lips were on his and they were kissing once more. Even though Sherlock could clearly taste the strong curry lingering on John’s tongue, it was as if dinner never happened and they were kissing as if they were still laying on the deserted beach.

Sherlock’s long fingertips gripped at John’s hair, making the blond gasp against his mouth and chuckle softly.

He hardly had time to notice they were already walking towards the bedroom, tumbling and chuckling, but managing.

As soon as they crossed the door to the bedroom John pulled away and started to unbutton his own shirt, fingers working quickly as to reveal as much of his skin as he could in as little time as possible. His eyes were dark, he stared at Sherlock with so much desire his stomach twisted and he felt the arousal making him lightheaded. 

The shirt fell on the floor and Sherlock walked towards John. He placed a hand on the man’s chest, holding him close and exploring the bare and warm skin for some time. He allowed himself to dare some more and was surprised to discover that the texture of John’s nipple felt entirely different from when Sherlock touched himself. He experimentally bent down enough so he could press his tongue to the hard nub. His eyes fluttered when John moaned and he repeated the movement, teeth scraping the oversensitive skin of one nipple while his thumb and index finger worked on the opposite one.  

“I can’t stand. I need- need- bed. Please.” He heard John say, and nodded eagerly.

They walked to the bed and lay side by side, and while Sherlock thought of the awkwardness that would appear now that they weren’t kissing anymore John was seemingly more worried about his lips on Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock gasped as John slid his mouth against his throat, leaping his collarbones while his fingers fumbled to open the buttons of the white shirt Sherlock insisted on putting on for their dinner, and then there was finally the perfect contact of skin-to-skin.

 Sherlock breathed heavily, eyes shutting tightly while he decided if he needed to focus more on John’s lips or the way his knee insistently pressed between Sherlock’s legs.

“Are we really doing this or am I just dreaming?” John asked breathlessly while his tongue found a perfect spot just below Sherlock’s Adam’s apple. Sherlock whimpered and shook his head briskly against the soft pillow.

“What do you think?” He asked.

John chuckled, and pushed Sherlock’s hips to the bed.

Sherlock’s eyes went wide as he stared at John right above him, breathing so hard he could feel it hitting his face. It was a strong contrast between John’s hot breathes and how cold the tip of his nose still felt every time it touched his skin.

John’s hands were now moving down Sherlock’s chest, pushing the shirt open and ripping it off the man’s shoulders and he felt a rush of embarrassment take over his lean and definitely not overly fit body.

He thought of crossing his arms protectively to cover himself, but before he could even move, John held both of his hands and shook his head, smiling fondly at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Sherlock’s pale eyes widened and his breathing was stuck in his throat. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve seen in my life.”

John’s words were encouraging and made Sherlock feel so much love inside him. It was a foreign feeling despite the words being more than known. He wanted to push John away so he wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed, but at the same time it was the best feeling he had experienced.

“Take it off, everything,” Sherlock said weakly. His shaking fingers slid away from John’s and cradled his face before leaning in to graze their lips together. His eyes fluttered and he waited for John to do as he told.

When John started to shuffle and slid the shirt from his shoulders and to the floor, though, Sherlock opened his eyes and smiled. If Sherlock was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen, it was the same for Sherlock while he watched John above him.

“God,” Sherlock breathed.

“Not quite,” John chuckled. He shrugged his arms away from the shirt and wriggled between Sherlock’s legs in order to get hold of his flies and open them quickly. Upon noticing he wasn’t going to be able to push everything down in the position they were in, John rolled to his side and took off his jeans with a huff. He tossed it to the pile formed by their two shirts and looked at Sherlock, eyes bright and expectant.

John didn’t have to say what he wanted. It only took a glance for Sherlock to know it was his time to take off his trousers, and he quickly did so, long legs tangling for a brief moment as he huffed with embarrassment and tossed them as further away as he could.

Therefore, they were both laying there with only their boxers leaving out very little to imagination. Sherlock’s eyes were wide, and so were John’s. They stared at each other’s faces before drawing their gazes downwards, looking for the first time as both were not used to the nakedness of it all just yet.

Sherlock could see the ghost of John’s hardness through the black boxers the man was wearing but it was his own white pants that made him flush with embarrassment. He felt the wetness pooling against his skin where his cockhead stood trapped in his only piece of clothing and swallowed hard in worry before looking away and letting his eyes flutter shut. 

“Hey,” John breathed softly against Sherlock’s shoulder, hand pressing to his shoulder in order to push him to lay on his back. “It’s okay. I feel the same way.”

These simple words, as usual, made Sherlock’s heart stop beating so fast. He felt calm and nodded even though his eyes weren’t open yet, and he knew John would understand him more than anyone. John was willing to love him, and to be there at that moment. It was better than Sherlock could have ever dreamed.

His breath caught up on his throat when John’s hand slid from his shoulder and stopped just under his navel. He tried to say something, anything that would indicate that he really was fine and that he couldn’t wait for John to just get along with it, but since nothing useful came out Sherlock only whimpered and wriggled his arse on the bed.

 John chuckled, his hand hovering Sherlock’s pants, and when he finally gripped at his cock through the white cloth Sherlock felt like entire body burned up and melted into the sensation at once. He was so relieved John was touching him, the sensations going right up his spine and down to his groin. His feet tingled and he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“You okay?” John asked while his fingers massaged Sherlock slowly, not leaving a single inch of his clothed cock untouched.

Sherlock didn’t know how to respond to that. “John,” he breathed, nodding softly in return, teeth digging into his own bottom lip. He wanted more, wanted John to rip off his pants and touch him, break him. “Please.”

John was not a mind reader, but it seemed as if in that moment he could read Sherlock like an open book, scrambling to crawl down the bed and hook his fingers on the elastic of Sherlock’s pants. He dragged it down and licked his lip as Sherlock’s heavy and leaking cock bobbed out of the boxers, and ran his tongue over the slit almost immediately, too eager to control his instincts.

Sherlock yelped and twisted his neck so that his nose was pressing to the pillow and he couldn’t look at what John was about to do. He gasped. “Fuck, John. _John_.”

John smiled and licked him once more, tongue swiping around Sherlock’s foreskin before his lips wrapped around him and sucked, hard, without mercy or any moment to wait. John seemed eager and blind, and Sherlock whimpered out of sheer surprise and moved a hand to curl around the blond hair.

John looked up and Sherlock clasped tightly at his hair. He felt John’s soft smile making his lips tighten around his cock and swallowed hard. It was going to be humiliating, Sherlock wouldn’t last any more than five minutes to that slick and hot tongue sucking him.

Sherlock felt John relax his throat and take in as deep as he could, and, god, how could anyone do such thing? Sherlock’s entire body was on fire, his legs spread and his toes curling on the mattress. He moaned John’s name and as reward received a greedy little noise coming from deep John’s throat.

“Oh my god,” Sherlock cried, wanting to push John’s head away from him before he exploded and it would be too much, he knew it would, he’d never felt anything remotely this strong and he hadn’t even reached his climax yet – as close as he felt he was, he feared it would never be enough. It was so overwhelming, and yet when his fingers clutched at the blond hair even more to drag him away, Sherlock instinctively did just the opposite – he rolled his hips into John’s mouth and pressed his boyfriend further against him.

Sherlock felt John choke quietly and moved to try to pull away, but John’s hands gripped at his thighs and he looked up once more just as he sucked the hard prick to the root, leaving him to bawl in pleasure. He arched his back and shut his eyes tightly as the glory of his climax substituted the overwhelming feeling of never being right there yet.

He was coming hard; it was stronger than anything he’d felt in his entire life, whimpering loudly as he fisted John’s hair while the man’s throat worked hard as he sucked in the hot release. John’s name left Sherlock’s lips like a mantra.

Sherlock’s vision went blank. He was sure he passed out for at least thirty seconds because the first thing he saw when he slowly opened his eyes wasn’t John only looming over him, but the man properly sat in between his legs, pumping his fist around his own cock and gasping to himself as if not to disturb Sherlock in his state of trans.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock mumbled, running both hands over John’s shoulders to drag him closer. John winced softly as he removed his hand from his cock and allowed Sherlock to lower him enough so their lips could touch.

“You’re hot and I’m desperate,” John chuckled. His chest flushed and Sherlock’s hands caressed it for a little while before moving downwards.

“I want to please you,” He said. He watched as John nodded and fluttered his eyes as if getting reading for the touch and it was impossible not to smile at the fondness of the moment. Sherlock loved him. Even more so after the rush of emotions he felt while John sucked him off.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of John’s cock; pumping it slowly and feeling it swell even more to the touch, then accelerating the rhythm and steading it.

It was thrilling, his own groin beginning to stir with interest even though he had just came. He pushed the foreskin down with each movement of his fingers and let it reveal the leaking and darkened head. His thumb rubbed against it in order to wet his fingers and help with the friction that might be too much for John – Sherlock did not know, really, as well as everything else touching someone else’s prick was completely different.

As it turned out John enjoyed the slickness of it, so Sherlock pulled his hand away – receiving a low grunt of frustration in return – spat on it and kept moving his fist rapidly against John. When it became clear that the blond was reaching his climax – he kept gripping at Sherlock’s shoulders, hips thrusting into the ring of fingers while Sherlock stilled his hand – Sherlock stopped and stared at John.

“I want you to come in my mouth.” He said.

John’s eyes opened wide. “Are you sure? You- You don’t have to, just because I did, it doesn’t mean you-“

Sherlock silenced John with his lips. “I want it.”

John sighed and shifted. “You should lay back then,” he said, clearly thinking over what would be the best and quickest way they could do this. When Sherlock silently complied, John crawled over him and straddled his his shoulders, nearly sitting on Sherlock’s chest as he lowered himself but never making contact.

Sherlock’s mouth was watering, John’s cock was so intimidatingly close to him it seemed even bigger and thicker. He rested his arm on John’s thigh and wrapped his fingers around him once more, pumping in eagerly until John was rocking against him, head throwing back and mouth opening in bliss.

The first spurt of John’s climax hit Sherlock straight in the chin. He gasped out in surprise and opened his mouth widely, leaning in so he could rest John’s cock to his bottom lip. It felt heavier, and Sherlock’s mouth embraced it eagerly, tongue swirling as he sucked and sucked and sucked. His eyes rolled and both of his hands clutched at John’s arse cheeks, keeping him close.

John couldn’t collapse without hurting Sherlock, but as soon as the orgasm wore down he moved away and fell next to him on the bed.

Both men were covered in sweat and panted breathlessly as they tried to get back to earth. John’s hand was heavily resting on Sherlock’s chest and he slowly moved his hand in order to clean his chin.

Sherlock smiled sheepishly and laid on his side, nose burying in the space where John’s neck met with shoulder.

“Feel good?” John asked, smiling as well, and absentmindedly stroked the dark curls that were nearly covering his face. Sherlock enjoyed the fondness of the touch, and happily leant into it.

“Marvelous,” he countered, breathing hot and heavily against John’s neck. “I need us to do this every day.”

He propped on one elbow and stared intently at John; the man’s smile, the way he looked at him, everything indicated how much he cared and would be willing to do anything Sherlock wanted for the sake of seeing him happy. The scary – and not so scary at all – part of it was that Sherlock felt the same way.

“I loved you the second I laid eyes on you.” He said, surprising not only John but also himself.

John breathed heavily, eyes brimming and Sherlock could swear they were also wet – god, was John going to cry? That was a bad idea. Bad, bad.

“Please don’t cry just because I told you I love you-” Sherlock urged, feeling his cheeks burn with need to cover himself away from John.

 “Oh, Sherlock,” John chuckled. He cupped the man’s cheeks and kissed him. “I’m not going to cry, I’m just happy. This was the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had, and I love you so much. Can I be happy about it for a while?”

Sherlock had completely forgotten about the day. He wrinkled his nose as his lips formed a soft pout and he blinked slowly, eyes fixing on John’s just to make sure the man was going to keep with his word. “Yes. But only for a little longer, because I want to have sex again.”

John rolled his eyes and held Sherlock close.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it! It was my first attempt at smut and since english is not my first language I already expect a few mistakes that I didn't spot while proofreading.  
> Feel free to drop a comment if you liked it or not!  
> 


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